Luna wasn’t sure if he was talking about the bathrobe at two in the afternoon or the drink. Luna didn’t have an opinion on either. Frankly, both sounded appealing.
Owen invited Luna inside by turning around and walking back into his house. Luna followed him into the kitchen. Half a pot of coffee was cold and stale on the counter. Luna took a mug from the shelf and poured a cup. She heated it in the microwave. The matter-of-fact way Luna made herself at home made Owen nostalgic for the days when he wouldn’t have noticed.
“Mason and Casey were over last night,” Luna said.
“I know. He texted me this morning.”
“How did you keep that from me all these years?”
Owen shrugged. The microwave beeped. Luna retrieved her coffee.
“It wasn’t my secret,” he said. “Why are you here?”
“I came to apologize.”
“Really?”
“Yep.”
Luna had wanted to ease into it, wait for the right moment, but Owen seemed impatient.
“I’m so sorry about Irene,” Luna said. “That sounds so…How do you apologize for being the reason someone died?”
“It’s not your fault. She’s dead because of the guy who shot her,” Owen said.
“If I’m out of the picture, she’s alive,” Luna said.
Owen shrugged. That wasn’t the apology he wanted.
“I’m also sorry about the things I said before. I was angry and it clouded my judgment,” Luna said.
“My turn,” Owen said. “What I did to you and Griff, it’s unforgivable. There’s no good explanation. I didn’t want to lose you to him.”
Both apologies were earnestly offered and accepted, but the timing was off. One was long overdue and the other still a fresh wound. Luna sipped her coffee. It was sour and stale.
“Well, I’ll get out of your hair,” Luna said, placing the mug in the sink, debating whether she should wash it and leave or just leave. She was going to just leave.
“So, is this like goodbye or something?” Owen asked. “You know, the more permanent kind?”
“I don’t know,” she said.
She’d believed up until the night before that the door to their friendship was closed. She hadn’t had enough time to rethink that opinion. Watching Luna walk toward the door, Owen couldn’t help but remember the last time. He could still hear the sound of the gunshot. He didn’t want her to go.
“Well, you could leave,” Owen said. “Or…”
“Or what?” Luna said, after a long pause.
The or held much more possibility than goodbye.
“You could stay for a drink. I never got to tell you about Irene, Leo, and the extortion scheme. What do you say?”
She would have said yes to a far less interesting invitation.
“You had me at extortion scheme,” Luna said.
Owen whipped up a quick batch of greyhounds and poured two glasses.
He opened a cabinet drawer and showed Luna the photo Irene had taken of him fourteen years past. He told her the story behind the photo, the memory it jogged. He showed Luna a picture of Irene from her mother’s wedding in London, said how Irene had told him about Leo years before he’d met the man. They sat on the deck and drank. It was like the old days, Luna thought. Aside from the constant ache in her shoulder.
Luna gazed, riveted, at the photo.
“Would you have known right away that this was Irene?” Owen asked.
“No. I mean, I see it now. I don’t think I would have. Why didn’t she tell you you’d met before?”
“I think she didn’t want me to make the connection to Leo. Irene—who I thought was named Phoebe—told me all about him. She didn’t say his name. But it was the night before her mother’s wedding, and she was really messed up about it. If she’d reminded me of our first meeting when we met in New York, I would have remembered the other stuff. I never could understand what was going on with her and Leo. Irene’s hatred was so intense and so unlike her.”
Luna, eyes unfocused, was reframing her own set of memories. She was seeing Irene on her wedding day, her reflection in the mirror. The expression of complete panic when Irene thought Luna was going to leave her alone with Leo.
“I never told you this. Remember how I had two seizures at your wedding?”
“I assure you, no one has forgotten about that,” Owen said.
“I only had one. I faked the first one, and then the real one was just bad luck.”
“Wait, what? Why would you fake a seizure?”
“You sent me for booze or something and I went in to check on Irene. Leo was there. He had his hand on her shoulder. At first I thought they were having a moment, but then I got a really weird feeling. Leo was clearly trying to get rid of me. But when I saw Irene’s reflection, I knew she was upset. It looked like she didn’t want him to touch her. I didn’t want to leave her alone. So what was I gonna do?” Luna said.
Owen busted out laughing. “Naturally, you faked a seizure. That makes sense.”
“It all worked out. Leo had to leave to get help. Irene was so relieved, grateful.”
“She never told me,” Owen said.
“After I had the second seizure, she came into the room and gave me notes.”
“What’d she say?” Owen asked.
“She said, ‘That was a little over the top, no? Remember: Less is more.’?”
Owen could picture Irene saying that. The memory warmed him briefly, but then he was reminded of her absence and a cold spell rolled in.
Luna raised her glass. “To Irene,” she said.
“To Irene,” he said.
Both of them looked away as they fought back tears.
“So, you and Sam are still getting a divorce?” Owen asked.
“Yes,” Luna said.
Her glass was empty. Owen retrieved the pitcher from the kitchen.
“You have time for another?” Owen asked.
Luna glanced at her watch. She didn’t. Not really.
“Do you have someplace you’re supposed to be?”
“I told Griff I’d meet him. He’s still upstate,” Luna said. “I shouldn’t have any more, since I have to drive.”
“You could take a taxi or Uber.”
“You’re right,” Luna said. “I could do that.”
She wasn’t making any moves to leave. Owen filled her highball glass and sat back down on the lounge chair.
“So, are you and Griff…?” Owen asked.